


White Tree

by awshitzombies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - not a hunter, Alternate Universe - not an angel, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mild Angst, Pre-Slash, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awshitzombies/pseuds/awshitzombies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was fucking stupid, but Dean talked to this one white birch tree on his commute to work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Tree

It was fucking stupid, but Dean talked to this one white birch tree on his commute to work.

Not out loud, of course, because that would be creepy and weird and probably earn him a room in the nearest asylum. No, he’d send the thing little mental quips from his seat on the train when it pulled into a station called Meadowbrook. It was a nice area—indeed there was a meadow and indeed there was a brook—with only a handful of people getting on and off due to its mostly remote location. 

It was embarrassing, the kinds of things Dean revealed to the tree in the thirty seconds the train stalled at the station to let people on and off. Mostly he’d just bitch about how much he hated his corporate job and the assholes he worked with. Sometimes he’d talk about his brother Sam, off in sunny California studying law like a good, smart kid ought to. Once or twice, though, he found himself mentioning his deceased parents—and that was when he came to realize just how fucking sad his life was if he was bringing up something he never, ever talked about to a goddamned tree. 

The tree never answered, of course—because it was a  _goddamned tree_ —but perhaps that was why Dean even bothered. The thing couldn’t very well judge him, could it? That and, well, it was the only birch tree standing amongst the oaks and conifers. Dean could relate, he figured, being a country boy stuck in a corporate world that might’ve filled his wallet but otherwise left him empty and more than lonesome. 

It was entirely dumb and really fucking pathetic, but that stupid tree was really the only friend Dean had. 

So it was understandable that, on his way home from work, Dean was completely floored when he saw that the birch along with most of the other trees in the glade had been chopped down. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he was scrambling off the train at Meadowbrook and across the street to where the forest used to be. Though he’d never seen the tree up close before, he was somehow able to locate the thing’s stump amongst the coating of wood chips and moldy leaves. He imagined that the tree cutting company would be back out tomorrow with tools to remove the stumps, and that would be the last of the forest. 

It kind of screwed up his day knowing that the damned thing was gone. As pathetic as it was, his work ethic drained to absolute zero and he made a mental note to drink himself into oblivion when he got home. TGIF. 

He stared at the stump for a long while until realization dawned. Five in the evening and he was mourning the loss of a  _tree_ ? Trees were uprooted and cut down all the time; he was making a big deal out of nothing. 

“This is stupid,” he grumbled, turning to go. 

A young man stood a few paces behind him, clad in a worn black shirt and some jeans—no shoes or a coat despite the cool autumn weather. The dude was extremely pale, and other than his clothes, the only things giving him any color were a shock of wild, black hair on top of his head and a pair of startling blue eyes that damned near seared their way through Dean’s own gaze. It was only then that Dean realized that they were both openly staring at each other. 

Ducking his head in embarrassment—fuck, he’d been staring at a goddamned tree stump not twenty seconds earlier—he shuffled past the guy, back across the street and up the steps to the station. The next train was twenty minutes away, but he had his phone to entertain him. Nothing like raging at Sudoku to help pass the time. 

He got five minutes into the game when he felt a presence beside him on the bench. Glancing up, he found the weird shoeless guy sitting next to him, which wouldn’t have been a problem if it weren’t for the fact that the dude was staring pointedly at him. 

“Can I help you?” Dean asked once he realized the dude wasn’t going to stop staring. The guy was probably homeless and wanting money, though the area definitely didn’t seem the place for a homeless dude to lurk. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Needless to say, Dean jumped in his seat and nearly dropped his phone. “Um—h-hi—do we know each other?” he stuttered out, taking another look at him. He was positive he had never seen the guy before in his life. 

“Oh yes.” The man nodded. It was fucking weird how he didn’t seem to blink. “I know much about you, Dean.” 

“Um, that’s really damn creepy.” Cool, so now he had a stalker on top of everything else hanging over his head. Just what he fucking needed. 

The dude didn’t seem to take the hint, instead continuing with an unwanted introduction. “My name is Castiel.” 

“That’s nice. Your parents religious nutcases or did they just want you to have your ass kicked in grade school?” 

Castiel tilted his head as his brow creased in confusion. “I never went to school,” he said. “Two hours ago I woke up alone on this bench.” 

As weird as the guy was, that revelation sent a spark of concern shooting down Dean’s spine. “Damn, dude, are you all right?” he asked, readying his phone to call 9-1-1. “Are you lost or…?” 

The man smiled a little. “No,” he answered, “not anymore.” 

“O…kay. Good.” Dean shifted, trying to put as much space between him and the weirdo as possible. Only ten more minutes until he could escape to his house and the bottom of a bottle. 

He returned to the game on his phone, not really paying it much attention since it was hard to concentrate with the Shoeless Weirdo drilling holes into the side of his face with his eyes. Just when Dean felt ready to snap and curse the dude off, the train rolled around the bend, honking briefly before coming to a hissing halt right in front of them. 

The second the doors swung open, Dean scrambled on board, forgoing finesse for the sake of getting away from Castiel. The car was mostly deserted, save for a gaggle of college kids chattering to themselves in the back and an old man asleep against one of the windows along the left side. Dean slipped into one of the two-seaters on the right, praying to whatever higher being out there that the Shoeless Weirdo would take the hint and leave him be. 

Of course he didn’t. The douchenozzle probably would’ve sat on Dean’s bag if he hadn’t snatched it up off the seat and clutched it to his chest like a goddamned shield. 

“Dude,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “what’s your deal?” 

Castiel tilted his head. “I’ve made no deals,” he replied. 

“The whole goddamned car is open; why don’t you sit somewhere else?” 

Another head tilt and a small frown. “Why would I want to do that?” 

Before Dean could adequately formulate his rage and frustration into words, the conductor stepped into the car and approached them. “Where you headed?” he asked Castiel with a brief nod at Dean as he flashed his pass. 

Castiel blinked up at him. “Wherever Dean goes.” 

The conductor spared Dean an amused glance. “That’s cute, kid.” He flipped out his ticket book. “I’m gonna need the station name.” 

“Lawrence Station,” Castiel answered almost robotically. Dean startled, wondering just how the hell this creep knew what station he got on and off at. The only people who knew that were Sam, a handful of his co-workers, and— 

Dean felt nauseous. 

“Lawrence,” the conductor muttered, “that’ll be three bucks.” 

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.” 

“This ain’t a free ride, man. You need to pay.” 

“But I don’t have anything to give you.” 

“Listen, you can’t just—” 

“It’s okay,” Dean blurted, fumbling for some crumpled stray bills in his pocket. He just wanted to go the fuck home. “He’s with me.” 

The conductor accepted Dean’s money and left them in peace. Once the door shut, Castiel turned to him and smiled. 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

“Whatever. Why’d you even get on the goddamned train without any money? Or shoes for that matter? I mean, what’s  _wrong_ with you?” 

The man blinked, then glanced down at the hands folded in his lap. “I died this morning,” he said, and holy shit that was not the reply Dean was expecting. “I was torn from my foundations, uprooted and chopped into tiny pieces. So were several of my brothers and sisters. They weren’t so fortunate as to be reborn like…this.” 

“Jesus—what the hell are you talking about?” Dean hissed, shifting against the window as much as he could. 

Castiel continued on, seemingly unaware that he was freaking Dean the fuck out. “But…then I woke up on that bench with…significantly less limbs than I used to have—” 

“Wait, wait, wait, stop.” Dean stared him down. “You mean to tell me that you…you’re the tree that I talked to like a goddamned fool every day?” 

“Yes.” 

“The birch.” 

“Yes.” 

“The tree that used to be across the street from Meadowbrook Station.  _That_ tree?” 

“Yes.” 

Dean nodded. “Get up.” 

Castiel did, confused as Dean squeezed past him and made his way to the front of the train. He sat down on the closest seat to the door and dropped his head into his hands, trying and failing to come up with a reason for why his life not only sucked, but had taken a turn for just plain weird. 

Approximately twenty seconds later Castiel joined him, timidly sliding into the seat across from him. He kept his distance this time, and when Dean glanced up at him, he found him looking rather sad.

“I don’t understand,” the ex-tree whispered, eyes low. “Frequently you told me that I was your friend, yet now you want nothing to do with me? Did I…do something wrong?” 

Dean sighed and dug his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache brewing. “Look, you gotta understand how friggin’ crazy you sound,” he muttered. 

“I don’t know what is crazy or normal. Up until a few hours ago, I was a ninety-year-old birch tree.” 

“Wait—a few hours ago? Don’t tell me you were standing on the platform waiting for my train to show up.” 

Castiel fidgeted in his seat. “You are all I know, Dean. I know you take the 6:46 train going south in the morning and the 4:18 train north on your way home. I know that you have a brother, Sam, who you’re working so hard for in order to send him to college. I know your mother perished in a house fire when you were a boy and your father a few years ago in a car accident. I know you plan on drinking yourself into a potentially dangerous stupor this evening—” 

“Alright, alright, yeesh.” Dean dropped his head back into his hands and combed his fingers through his hair.  It was fucking crazy, but Dean was starting to believe him. There was no other way the guy—a dude he’d never seen before in his thirty-three years of life—could be pulling all this out of his ass. 

“I’m real,” Castiel assured him, reaching out to squeeze his knee. “I know it’s…crazy, but I assure you that I am real.” 

“Stop it with that mind-reading mojo.” 

“I’m not reading your mind, Dean.” He smiled. “I know much about you is all.” 

“Yeah, well.” Dean shifted, shaking the dude’s hand free from his knee. “I don’t know squat about you.” 

Castiel recoiled in surprise, brows shooting high up on his head. “I…ah, there’s not much to tell,” he admitted. “I am a birch tree. Was… _was_ a birch tree.” He made a face. “Now my bark is squishy, my feet hurt, and I think I have to urinate.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, being human isn’t a walk in the park. But it has its perks.”

“I can see now.” Castiel smiled. “You are much more handsome up close.” 

Well damn, they were headed down _that_  route, were they? “Yeah? Well, I can honestly say that I've never found a tree attractive until now.” He flashed the dude one of his trademarked wink-and-grin combos that wooed many a lady back in the day.

Despite having been a tree all his life, Castiel seemed to grasp the concept of flirting well enough and ducked his head, chuckling as a light blush graced his face. And yeah, they were flirting of all things. Twenty minutes into a conversation with this ex-tree man and Dean was already working his magic to get into his pants. Way to go. 

Though, as long as it had been since his last lay, it had been even longer since he’d had just an honest-to-God friend to talk to, he realized. Castiel was sitting there simply smiling at him like he was the best thing since sliced bread. Despite knowing nearly everything about Dean—his fuck-ups, his hopes and fears—the dude wasn’t judging him. On the contrary: Castiel wanted to stay with him. 

The train began to slow, and one quick glance out the window behind him revealed that they were rolling up to their stop. 

Dean sighed. "Well. Can’t very well leave you to fend for yourself when you don’t have any money—or shoes for that matter.” He stood as the conductor opened the door, announcing to the nearly empty car that they’ve reached Lawrence Station. Dean turned to Castiel and asked, “D’you like cheeseburgers?” 

“What’s a cheeseburger?” 

“Oh,” Dean laughed as he descended the stairs with Castiel close on his heels, “oh, my friend, you have much to learn.”


End file.
